


Epiphany: D. Malfoy

by totallyfictional



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyfictional/pseuds/totallyfictional
Summary: War lay on the horizon. After the rumored return of Voldemort, the opposing sides of his followers, and all those fighting for peace, had never been more rigidly separated. A world so black and white; there was only one thing that bridged the two together. The bond between two students that traced back summers, when the idea of war was hardly a whisper on anyone's lips.Draco knew it was only a matter of time until he was pulled away from her completely. But that does not stop him from trying to beat the clock.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

They spoke of the importance of timing, like if two bodies made of lull-less black vortexes hit at the right moment it would be any less tragic. Their lips whispered these advices not asked for and poisoned the minds of those finding peace right then and there. Because to them, timing was everything.

Life ran like a clock, ticking like a pocket watch with a sadistic tick, and humans jumped through hoops to follow along. They say you have your ups and downs, they are brought and then taken, and you must survive. It was the timing of these things that made them, they said. They wore black cloaks and sat in corners.

Perhaps tragedy was inevitable, but some liked to make their own time and set their own rules. They ruled the ground beneath them with an unexpected steadiness and preyed on the curious. Their craving for life was never satisfied, but they learned to love from nature and they followed along the best they could. These souls were placed in bodies and looked like everyone else, and though they were honey sweet and crafted by time, they had a deadly bite behind their emerald eyes.

The house of Gryffindor fell around her like a blanket, and she felt quite comfortable wrapping in it's fabric. Bravery, honesty, compassion, ambition, it molded into shape like the Black Lake and sucked up those with a swiftness in their words and the spirit of a lion.

Her parents were Gryffindors too, very much like her. Her father was a quiet and knowledgeable man, with a gentleness he had passed down to his daughter. Married to her mother, who had a laugh that got stuck in your head and spent summers planting peonies in the garden. She credited too much to her parents, as there was a part of her that lively thrived in a manner no one could form with their own two hands. 

She had a cheery laugh that made your words get stuck in your throat and emerald eyes that anyone hoped truly were windows beyond her sun kissed skin and dark hair. She was one of the top students because she could remember nearly everything she read and wore red shoes that greatly resembled a pair her mother had when she was in school.

It wasn't the way she walked, it was the way she stood still, that was like art pressed behind glass, flowers pressed between book pages. 

She had an unlikely knack for second chances, thirds chances, chances after each other. It was both a blessing and a curse, and it all came back to father time. She envied his power and the way he corrupted people, convincing the story that he was the key. She didn't believe in timing. She didn't believe in waiting.

And then there was he. He sulked in corners and only felt real emotion when the door shut and he was under the covers, hiding himself from the dark. Perhaps he liked her green eyes because they matched his robes, or maybe he had finally stumbled upon something that made him pause. He had his secret pleasures like Potions class or the cherry pie that would occasionally make an appearance after dinner. His favorite had to be her, though.

It was after watching her he realized he was tired of boring conversations with boring people, and watching spinning clocks like it was a death warrant. He was normally malicious from underneath the blanket of fear that he sat.

Perhaps it was his parents. Perhaps it was the control they reigned, and school felt like an escape most times, but these things extended beyond the walls of just a house. He tread carefully, skillfully, and intentionally.

He was above those who were breed with dirty blood, and those who pitied them and even those who were of clean blood. He turned his nose up and set his shoulders back an convinced himself quite nicely. It was only within him, the silent, deadbeat part that knew he amounted to little in his head.

She rose above time, he cowered below it. It was the push and pull of tides, but kept in secret. They had glowing eyes for each other that no one looked quite closely to notice. Perhaps it was the odd combination that never raised suspicions, but she had grown up a hill and over from his manor and had taught him things since before he ever started learning. She wandered, he ran, and they crashed.

There were summers stuffed between them, and a girl who had no boundaries of home and a boy that liked an escape. There was a creek that ran over the hill from her quaint house and just past that and through a lengthy patch of woods, a marble manor had it's home. She'd run through the garden and beyond the fence that kept the rabbits outs, and would always manage to come home with mud up to her knees. 

He'd wait for the moments his father left for work and then would propose the idea to his mother of practicing on his broom so he could make the Quidditch team when he was old enough to start at a place like Hogwarts, but he'd always fly further then he was supposed to.

Somewhere in between the land of the two came a meeting point, and all she had to do was say she was pureblood and she was his.

Sometimes he'd still walk between classes and smell the scent of honeysuckle and smile at the thought of where it's roots truly came from.

Sometimes she'd paint pictures in her head of the fever in her heart she had when she strung flowers together and became more then just natures queen.

Their fifth year in Hogwarts was when time stopped. It may have taken awhile, summers and winters, and confusing stares, but a time approached where it ceased completely.

It was over an unlucky pluck of a book that it came to be, and she felt like a child again for a moment.

She wandered up and down aisles of books in the library of her school, resisting the urge to touch the spines of the stories she passed up for others. She could've sworn she'd read this place up and down, almost completely, but their were places her light didn't touch. The Restricted Section had always amazed her.

It was simply a pity it was roped off. The things existed behind those ropes were challenging, dangerous, tastefully displayed in a way that made her want to stun the librarian and have her feast over the old rotting pages.

She stopped at the book case nearest to it, pretending to be intrigued in a thick green book about the War of Giants, though her eyes maliciously flickered back to section that she was denied access.

She was close enough that her slender fingers could wrap around the nearest one if the librarian looked down, and steal one for herself.

And she had nearly built up the courage to, because like most times, her curiosity outweighed any discipline she had.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." 

Her courage faltered.

"You should know, someone could take a pleather of house points for that risky move, Mills."

That voice went back seasons in her memory, and for a second, she felt the skip of her heart beat.

"You should know, I didn't do anything wrong. I was simply looking." She turned around, hand long fallen to her sides, to meet the boy in front of her with a sickly sweet smile she used to get out of any mess. She was charming to the point that it always worked.

They didn't really talk. They were from opposing houses, and he'd rather be caught dead than conversing with a Gryffindor unless it was terrorizing them, but occasionally there would come a time when clocks would stop and they'd make small, quick comments to each other in a manner only they understood. They communicated under waves of thick water and glances for words.

"It looked like much more than looking to me, Mills." He said with a knowing look, hands behind his back to try to radiate authority. He had really gotten good at it ever since he had been given a prefect position at the start of the year. "Besides, the Restricted Section is only accessible to teachers and the librarian. School rules."

"Well, no harm no foul, right? Or are you going to deduct points for my bravery?" 

He knew just how brave she was, too. He used to ask her about it, when they were kids and in the middle of summer nights under the stars she'd sit in his gazebo until he looked out the window and joined her. She said there was too little time to stay home at night, counting minutes until the sun rose.

"I suppose I'll spare you this time, Mills. But in the future," He said with a feigned frustration, a small smile on his lips. "I might not be so kind."

"How lucky of me."

"Indeed." 

She felt a drop as he walked away. That was the small dose of her summer boy until next time, maybe a long time, when they could collide again.

She never wondered whether the boy she once knew was lost. All she had to do was pay a special attention, to the pounding energy he had during a Quidditch match, or the way his eyes lit up when there was cherry pie at dinner, and she'd see them as kids once again. Or even in the moments when it was just the two of them in the library, and he spared her of the consequences of her own recklessness. Sometimes however, she'd wonder if they would ever grow up, or remain all the same.

She'd remember him in the moments that she didn't think she would, but they had grown up together, and that left an imprint that she couldn't shake.

In the kitchens late at night, with Ginny and the Weasley twins, playing a variety of games they found to entertain themselves in-between the cups of pumpkin juice and whatever the elves offered to cook. Sometimes they did it at random, sometimes they did it to avoid their school work, all times they did it to have fun. 

"I'm tall when I'm young but I'm short when I'm old, what am I?" Fred said in a knowing tone, holding a Every Flavor jelly bean.

"A candle." She said quickly. She caught the jelly bean he threw in her direction in her mouth and thought for a moment. "Is that marmalade?"

George let out a groan and Fred shook his head. "How are you so good at this game?"

"That's a streak of 27." George chimed in.

"I've had loads of practice." She shrugged with a cheeky smile. George laughed.

"Yes I can imagine, Anona the only child with no one to play with having loads of practice at this."

She was in fact an only child, but she never minded that. She also never played alone. 

And it was moments like that that had her thinking of a grey eyed Slytherin. 

At some point when fifth year started, thoughts like those stopped making her happy. The nostalgia would crawl into her bones and make a rather unfulfilled feeling sink in her chest. Passing glances and small remarks were leaving her empty. She liked the warm days under the sun when she chased the boy with white blonde hair down the creek. She liked the humid nights she'd sneak out through the garden to watch the stars, and maybe, maybe, he would too. She grew to not like the school days in between, when passing thoughts were kept to herself and she sat alone by the Black Lake, high in a tree with an old book in her hands. He sat on the other side of the hill on days like those, surrounded by his friends that he had said before he wasn't very fond of.

She was not in love with him, but she was in love with sentiment. She had a heart that formed around the things in her life and refused to let go. She clung to the past and laughed in the face of change. She was tender-hearted and couldn't bear to let it die.

He was a mixture of the sorts. Over summers as they grew older, things changed. When they had been sorted into different houses, is when it truly started. They both presumed that's what it was like to grow up, and stop playing in fields and picking clovers. That never changed the moments that would come on occasion, less often then before, but still untouchable. Time's hands reached out to snatch it from them and was met with a dangerous mix of her sentiment and his protectiveness.

Because Draco was a callous, rude, and toxic Slytherin, but he would hurt anyone who came to try to take away his precious summer time memories. He couldn't come to justify it either, but he knew her as a beacon of everything he wanted in life. She was the breeze through the trees and the games of connect the dots, and the breathes of fresh air he didn't know he needed, and the laughter when the noises stopped.

Sometimes that protectiveness would surface in a way he couldn't help. Like the piercing of a bullet through rippling water, he would forget all rules he knew for a moments time.

"Are you headed to Potions class, Mills, or the circus?" The shrieking voice of Pansy Parkinson boomed through the halls, girls with emerald Slytherin patches grouped at the outskirt of the hall.

Anona had once told Draco, high in a tree one afternoon after tea, that she liked her strange red shoes greatly cause they reminded her of something her mother had told her once. He didn't ask what is was, but he watched her as she wore those shoes every chance she got.

"I had no idea they changed Gryffindor's mascot to a clown."

Draco rolled his eyes at her tasteless insults, but what really made his throat burn was the girl standing in those quite peculiar shoes. He never bothered her much, but he had no desire to see her cry. It was a complete excuse on his part, for he really just hated the condescending tone in Pansy's voice, and he knew Anona cared very little of what others thought.

"Pansy, do you ever shut your bloody mouth?"

Draco had the incredible power of being the only person able to shut up Pansy Parkinson, and he used it to his advantage as often as he could.

Sometimes it was too much of a bother, but he caught the gaze of those emerald green eyes and realized he'd tell Pansy Parkinson to shut it everyday if he had to. Anona stared back at him for a moment, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing as him. That this is what they did when they were kids, before they knew anything, and neither would abandon that as they grew up. It wasn't until Anona broke her stare and walked away that Draco doubted if that was all in his head. 

Sometimes the blonde haired boy would shut his eyes at night and wonder if he had made her from wild figments of imagination. He wondered if he had truly been that lonely when he was a child to configure the perfect remedy to his rigorous life. He walked into Potions class and saw her leaned over a book, unconsciously fiddling with a small necklace her father had given her like she always did, and reminded himself he was not at all dreaming.

Draco minded his business in Potions. It was his favorite class. But this past summer, they had barely interacted (mostly Draco's fault), hills left bare with no outlines perched on top, secrets left unspoken, and the gap between doubled in size and it made a pressure so immense it felt like he was hundreds of feet underwater, weighing on his chest. He wasn't very fond of it.

He admired Professor Snape more then ever when he paired the two up for their assignment, claiming Neville Longbottom had to learn to do at least one potion without Anona Mills pulling him through it. 

She moved slowly, almost a little doubtfully, before putting her stuff in the seat next to his. 

Maybe it was the fact she was better at it then him, maybe it was his constant need for power, but he felt the twinge of a want to impress her as they started mixing together the ingredients to make a Draught of Peace rather wordlessly. They either both had too much to say or nothing at all.

"Stir it until it turns blue." She said quietly, making Draco look over at her. 

"That is blue."

"That's teal." She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. Out of the two, she was the creative one. He trusted she had a better eye then him rather easily.

"Well you've always been better at Potions than me. Or any class for that matter." Draco said quietly in return, listening to her and continuing to stir it. They both spoke in small, discreet sentences, almost like they weren't sure if other people would hear their abnormally civil conversation.

"You've always been better at Quidditch than me, so it's fair." She said before sprinkling more powdered moonstone into the cauldron, making the potion turn purple. Draco went quiet for a moment, before suddenly trying very hard to suppress a laugh. "If you're thinking of the time I fell off my broom and tore my favorite pair of pants, I swear to god I'll jinx you."

This only made it harder for him to hold back his chuckles at the memory of many summers ago. For a girl with her kind of instinct, she was a terrible mess on a broomstick.

"I said nothing." He defended, before clearing his throat, trying to act normal again. But nothing was normal around her, because she had never been the kind of person that was ordinary.

She watched him stir the potion the correct amount of times in silence, shifting her weight around on her legs. 

"You don't need to call Pansy down every time she makes comments to me. It looks weird when you do it, as much as I appreciate it. You know I've never cared what she says."

At the speak of her name, Draco glanced across the room to see Pansy Parkinson paired with an unlucky Gryffindor, and he could tell by her face from across the room, she was being plenty rude. Draco didn't really care, and he wasn't much different from her himself, but he still couldn't wrap his mind around her words.

"I don't really care how it looks, Mills."

She was silent again, but she watched him, and continued to until he glanced up at her in return, her green eyes making a feeling in his stomach twist.

"I still can't figure you out." She said for a moment. His heart hit against his ribs and he wondered how it didn't hurt.

"I thought we established we are very different."

She looked back down and shuffled around the ingredients like she was busy.

"True." She said, brushing her hair out of her face. Draco tried to look only at the potion. "But we're also very much the same."

Bullshit, Draco thought. He was nothing like her, and if he were, he'd be lucky. 

She executed the assignment flawlessly, like she often did. He envied her for it. They didn't speak much after that, but they didn't really need to. There was a feeling, of their two energies mixing, and it left them rather content in their silence. Comfortable, even. 

When they walked out of class, they split two different ways down the corridors.


	2. Chapter 2

Anona sat on the common room floor, right next to the crackling fire, and also right across from a red haired Weasley. Ginny had offered up the game Wizard's Chess to play, a board that Ron had supposedly inherited from their grandfather. Whatever the history, Anona was proving to be a down right terrible piece of competition for her. In other words, Ginny was extremely well thought out, and Anona, apparently, did not have a knack for the game. 

"For Merlin's sake." She grumbled as another one of Ginny's pieces smashed hers to smithereens. Ginny wore a dashing, proud look, while a low chuckle came from Harry Potter as he watched from the couch, avoiding a Potions essay. Hermione Granger glared at him from over her essay, in which he nervously looked back down at his parchment in order to feign some progress. She had told him plenty of times how essential homework was, even with everything going on. In fact, she had started out the night berating the matching set of Gryffindor boys that completed the trio, but Ron had come up with something he needed to do, and therefore snuck out the common room door. Anona and Ginny both supposed he fled to the kitchens with his twin brothers; it is where they went to procrastinate as well. 

Anona gave a huff of frustration, trying to riddle out the perfect plan to throw Ginny off guard, only she didn't seem to be quick enough, or Ginny was constantly five steps ahead. After awhile, she was beginning to think that beating her in the ancient game was just as challenging as finishing her History of Magic homework.

"You know, you could always let me win, for the sake of friendship." Anona grumbled, shifting on her feet. The floor was growing uncomfortable. Despite the annoyed look on her face, Ginny knew all too well she was joking. Anona hardly grew upset. (Though she knew that once she did, she was quite the storm to handle)

"It's a shame I'm too bloody proud, isn't it?" Ginny joked back, moving her pieces around once more. Anona watched as her enchanted figures turned on the board to glare at her. They must've been tired of being pummeled, she guessed, but she couldn't blame them. "Check."

Another extended groan came from Anona's lips, excepting yet another defeat in what seemed a fruitless battle. "I can't bear another loss," She got up, flattening out the fabric of her pants. "My pride can't take it."

She supposed that's where they difference between her and her friend stood. Ginny had grown up with six brothers; she had learned how to fight. Anona on the other hand, was more of a creative sort. 

"Heading to the kitchens as well?" Ginny looked up at her, organizing the pieces back again. Anona supposed that she would find three Weasleys there, all of whom she was accustomed with, and also a nice dessert. 

"Definitely; History of Magic homework can wait. Care to join?"

"I'm actually pretty tired," She stood up too. "Think I might head to bed."

"Probably for the best," Anona said, recalling a past experience. "Last time I met Fred and George in the kitchens they snuck a Fainting Fancy into my chocolate cake to test if it worked and I was out for five minutes; they nearly thought they had killed me."

She had grown used to the element of surprise with the twins. In fact, the only consistency they offered was their ability to always make her laugh, and to completely dodge predictability. 

Along with that, and the neighboring fact that she was in a dreadfully wrong mood for homework, she was quite positive about sneaking down to the kitchens for the simple feeling of doing it.

The game of survival was one Anona had always been unhealthily obsessed with. When she was young, she'd creep through the woods, light on her feet, out of peoples sight. The thrill of stealth was an adrenaline she was hooked on, and something about sneaking around after curfew or to the kitchens gave her that same sensation.

You could barely hear the faint echo of her footsteps as she walked down the corridor, the clock ticking dangerously close to curfew. She snaked along close to the castle walls until she saw the pear portrait, feeling a sense of pride in her stealthy venture. 

She adjusted her robes before reaching out to trail her finger down the side of the painting, getting excited for a nice glass of pumpkin juice.

“You never have really listened, have you?” 

She would have been lying had she said she was more excited for the pumpkin juice then to hear that voice, but she feigned a frustration and let her hand drop to her side.

Draco had a very familiar expression of superiority on his face, and yet the curl of his lips was plenty more sincere then condescending. She was at least grateful for this.

"Breaking more school rules, Mills, it's getting really hard to let you get away with it."

"You've never had a problem with it before, Draco, I highly doubt it takes much energy."

She would be surprised how hard it was for Draco to let her go, in anyway. He smiled at her comment.

"Would you like to join me for some English Toffee and pretend you never saw me, or have we reached the end of your grace?" She said with a smile, her pulse suddenly feeling like it was pounding. 

Something in Dracos stomach turned rather suddenly, and the offer sounded plenty nice to him, but he remained behind his expression with his hands behind his back.

A strange part of him was annoyed with her for the invitation. Wouldn't it be much easier to just move on from the past and continue with their lives, in two different houses? Why did he feel the need to snap at Pansy for her comments, and glance in her direction when lying in the sun by the Black Lake? Why did she have to be so nice, and understanding, and remember every detail of him she ever noticed?

"You've always been strangely obsessed with toffee, and I don't quite know why."

"Perhaps cherry pie instead?"

Draco wondered, did she really notice him as often as he noticed her? Draco could've laughed bitterly for how hard she made things for him. He could have turned cold, and let her fall into the crowd of all Gryffindors, and treated her like any other.

But he didn't. He had a good reason for it too, because behind the emerald eyes that analyzed him was the day's she made him laugh as kids when life at home was straining, and trips through the woods between their houses that made him almost forget how truly trapped he felt, and her riddle like advice that would at least get him thinking differently them his normally pessimistic perspective. What pained him more was that she had hardly changed.

It was almost sickening how well put together she was, how brilliant, how remarkable. It made him want the shrink into the shadows of cloaked figures and never try to be anything ever again.

Dracos thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps, not his own, not Anona's, but by some coming down the corridor. He heard the meow of a cat and knew who it was.

He wondered for a moment, if it would've been easier to let her get caught by Filch. Maybe then, he wouldn't care so much about what Pansy said to her, or what way she wore her hair, or if that summer was the summer they would finally cease contact and accept their differences. He saw the girl who'd paint herself in mud just because he had fallen in it, and who read him books in trees that he called stupid at the time yet he never forgot, and who still made him question the teachings of his parents. He was hopeless, he assumed, as he grabbed her hand, went left down a corridor, and pulled her into the bulky doorway of a room he didn't know, but was sure was locked.

She must have heard the footsteps too, because she stayed silent and closely pressed to him.

Draco tried to listen to Filch's footsteps, measuring whether the distance between him and them was growing or shrinking, but he quickly grew frustrated that he could hardly hear with the pounding in his ears. 

Everything annoyingly smelt like parchment and mint, now that Anona was standing right in front of him, almost touching.

Draco despised the way his hands felt slippery. It was in his good luck that he needed to remain silent because he was completely tongue tied. It was in his good luck that it was dark, because his ears were burning red.

Maybe that was the funny thing about the two of them, they spent so much time apart that they came colliding together and nearly had no idea what to do. Because the feeling of secrecy now was different from the feeling of their summers passed, yet equally exciting.

Anona picked up on the familiar feeling. She knew how much they hid. To anyone else, they we're strangers passing. A strange part of her felt eager. It was something about the way that they were tucked away from the world, out of reach of their judging eyes and questioning stares. There was something secret about having this boy right in front of her. For the first time ever inside the Hogwarts walls, she felt like she could be honest with herself. 

Except she partially couldn't, because if she spoke, Filch would have both of their heads.

While the thoughts pounded through her head, Draco was coming to terms with his exhaustion.

Draco was a little tired of hiding. Hiding from himself, cowering under his parents, his house, his future. Now he came to the realization he was inevitably hiding from the girl from his past, present, and future. The more he thought about it, she was the only best friend he had ever truly known.

And he hated the sickening feeling of having something so good so close, and keeping it at arms length. It felt like everyday he waited, was another day he wasted.

Filch's footsteps faded out, and suddenly they realized the position they were in was no longer necessary, so as quickly as she came, Anona slipped out of the doorway and back in the hall.

"I think that's enough adventure for one night." She said quietly, and Draco could tell by her clouded green eyes she'd rather return to her common room to think then she would risk herself more for any English Toffee.

He felt a strange discomfort in letting her go. "You should get back to your common room."

He watched her. Anona suffered from the turning of her stomach and the sweat she was sure pooled in her palms. Draco felt the deadly weight of a now or never moment. He always faltered under such pressure.

"I'll see you around then."

She pushed herself back an forth on her heels.

"I would hope so."

Perhaps that was the moment that in a wordless, timeless, agreement they came to the conclusion they were inescapable. Draco pondered for awhile what that meant for him now, or what she intended with her words, or if a moment like that would ever be repeated. Anona did not wonder at all; she went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've grown so used to not sharing my writing that this is way out of my comfort zone hahaha, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

When Hermione proposed the idea of a secret meeting, for the formation of a secret group, under very secret circumstances, Anona was jumping at the thought. The idea of having a teacher like Harry, who had lived through so much, to finally show them a couple tricks that they lacked in their actual Defence Against the Dark Arts class made her excited.

Anona was excited to think of it. Finally a chance to learn self defense, to not feel so helpless in a war brewing. Anona's parents tried desperately to hide it from her, yet she heard the half even they didn't know. That's what they got for hiding things from her; it never resulted in her own ignorance. Because the oak stairs of her childhood home was the place that harbored her during so many hushed kitchen conversations, drinking up any words from her parents she could decipher. And being so dear to Ginny, she came to know details of the war she almost wished she didn't. Anona glanced at Harry at the thought of it. She wondered if he were nervous too, like so many others.

And she did not envy him, like many others. Perhaps it was their house; or human instinct, that cut the desire for glory so deeply inside them, etching it into their ambitions. And she did like the idea of glory, anyone did, but boy was she pleased to not be Harry Potter.

And for most good things in life, there was always a price to be paid. He seemed to have been paying a fruitless price since the night his parents were murdered. Anona at least had the comfort of a warm home, and two loving parents, and only the danger she threw herself towards, however she'd decide.

Despite the trials that made Anona rather thankful she had not endured, it had benefited in one way; Harry Potter was experienced. He had had an opportunity to use magic the rest of them had only read about. Getting to act on it... that was an experience worth envying. 

Her and Ginny had talked about it before, over a cup of her mothers favorite tea. They were very alike in the sense that they were kind, and composed, but both of them grew a fire underneath their skin and were hungry for knowledge, for skill, and their temperament led them to be born fighters. They were just waiting their chance, drinking their tea in Ginny's room, dreaming of time were they could feel prepared for the life they knew would ensue them. It was strange that now it was all falling in place.

A secret army seemed to be more Hermione's idea, as Harry was apprehensive. Anona couldn't blame him. She had thought about it, late the night before when she knew she was supposed to be sleeping. She wondered what her parents would think if they found out, if anyone found out. She supposed they wouldn't be terribly upset, or at least she hoped. 

Her parents were strange, in a way that was far beyond her. She admired everything about them deeply, except for their perception of ignorance being bliss. Anona couldn't help but shudder at the thought that they would rather not tell her anything, and maybe even lie, when it was her who was living on the school grounds that could put her in danger. She felt a slight resentment for their lack of preparation.

Not many people had believed Harry, or even Dumbledore, but her parents were never stupid. They were observant, and understanding, and smart. If only they trusted her to be the same.

Maybe that was why Anona felt a strange rush being in a room with twenty other students, ready to learn how to fight, to protect, and how to prepare. It was a euphoric sensation.

The piece of paper got passed around from student to student, signing their names on the list of members so Hermione could keep track. Anona had always liked the feeling of a little rebellion, and signing her name on that paper was a matching feeling, something similar to the rush that used to posses her younger self, or inspire her bravery.

_Anona Mills_

Ginny gave her a small smile as she took the paper from her, and Anona looked around at the mixtures of the looks on students faces. Some excited, some apprehensive. Everyone seemed to have the same strange mixture as her, a concoction of nervousness and readiness. But that's how it always was, cause as the ending closed in, growing nearer and nearer; everyone could feel it. All at once, in a motion of harmony, they were eager to act and anxious to end.

The pure ecstasy was short lived. In fact, it hardly even had twenty four hours to thrive.

"Bloody hell." Ron groaned, seeing a thin piece of parchment with a thumb tack through the top stuck to the bulletin board. Copies of the new Educational Decree Number 24 had been posted anywhere a students eyes could reach, and the news was enough to make your stomach sink and your paranoia kick in. 

A ban had been placed on all student groups that did not have the permission of Umbridge for clearance, and everyone who had written their names on that sheet of paper had a twist in their stomach. Anona felt Ginny by her side, giving out a huff.

"You don't suppose someone snitched, do you?" Anona asked her in the quietest tone she could manage as they walked through the halls.

"Hermione put a jinx on the parchment, we'd know if somebody snitched." Ginny shook her head in thought. "Someone must have over heard, and given the information to Umbridge."

It was not unlikely, she knew it to be true, but it was a little troubling. However, it seemed like long since everyone started keeping an ear out for anything to do with Dumbledore, Voldemort, or Harry Potter. Words spread like wildfire, rippling through a crowd in a matter of seconds. Yes, indeed, if someone had heard even the ghost of a conversation about Dumbledore's Army, she was sure they would've scurried to their friends, and their friends, and their friends.

"Well that's not it, right?"

"Of course not. We'll just have to be, well, more careful. Everyone's fired up now, I don't think anyone can stand to see this fail."

Ginny, as usual, was not wrong. During meal times, students from their selected houses flowed up an down in a secretive stream to the Gryffindor table, asking Harry whether or not they were still going to go through with it. No one minded the idea of the risk, and when Harry told them to stay posted on a time and place for the first meeting, they left the table gleaming. 

And in the days that followed after, as the air grew colder and the season faded from that of warm colors and sun kissed skin, to more muted tones and a chilling, snaking breeze, Anona pondered many times of the possibilities of the risks they took.

They were, after all, the house of bravery. And she wasn't afraid, not of their new wicked teacher or of the ministry itself, ruthless and ignorant as they were. 

She wondered what her parents would think. She wondered if they'd be proud, or disappointed, hoping her to follow along with their lack of pro-activeness. Would they see the girl they had raised, dashing through flower beds and scraping her knees, saving the bee with a broken wing and chasing the garden Doxies? Would they see her for her light, her compassion, her bravery?

Or would they settle on a less honest reflection, one refracted and skewed, of a girl with wisdoms shoved so far in her ears she was deaf to their sense, who climbed out her bedroom window to watch the stars and didn't care that she had broken the screen? Would they judge her for recklessness?

And this was all to assume that the DA was caught, which in rebuttal, they were bounding great lengths to avoid the very possibility. Always check over your shoulder, turn the coins in your palms, two through the door at a time; no more. Truly, they were using the very stealth that school had taught them against itself. She battled to ease her mind.

Anona liked the pattern in which the leaves fell from the trees that circled Hogwarts. It was the time in which every student made a conscious decision of whether they were going to embrace the transforming autumn, or cower indoors in the warmth and comfort of their common rooms. Half the student body, bundled in light sweaters and woolen socks, were poised in the courtyard, sprawled on the hill, or walking along the path to the greenhouse and back. The rest could mostly surely be found in front of their own fire, between the shelves of the library, or in the dining hall. 

And while no place in Hogwarts struck her as uninviting, Anona liked the faded path by the lake the best. It reminded her of home; of the creek beyond the woods; of the other house beyond that. And she thought sparingly, of the boy who lived there, between walks through the corridor and rolls of parchment.

Yet this time, as she dug her hands loosely in her pockets and counted her crunching steps, he made himself known.

She had not seen him much; he was always everywhere at once, and nowhere at all. And frankly, she had had many other things to mull over in her spare time.

"Mills." He called out, not harsh in volume, but tone. She had a hard go about keeping up with his phases, sometimes.

She turned on her path, the edge of the Forbidden Forest in view, Hagrid's Hut with a chimney that was bellowing smoke, and the gleaming of lit candles shining through the castle windows. For all she knew, it was a quiet weekend evening, on the verge of changing seasons. 

"Draco." She greeted, waiting for him to catch up. He had walked up from behind her, like he had seen her passing and chased her down. It's what he used to do when they were children, anyway.

And with the presence soon next to her, she did not miss the tiny silver 'I' on a patch of his shirt.

"Should I be worried you're seeking me out?" She asked truthfully, holding her hands behind her back, glimpsing one or twice around to see if any other student lingered nearby.

"We used to seek each other out quite frequently." He said slyly, but something in his words left a feeling hanging in the air. She wasn't sure if it was caution, or discomfort. It was not normal.

"We were also years younger." She concluded. He kept his eyes down, muttering a quiet, 'Fair enough.' And with his lack of observation, or care, she was able to watch him in her peripheral for a matter of what felt like minutes. He looked unhappy. His brows looked tensed, his eyes were kept on his feet, his gaze was hard and his hands curled into themselves. There was something on his mind.

"Are you here to ask if my mother's sent any of those butter cookies you love, or are you going to tell me what is actually on your mind."

A small smile flickered on his lips, lingering for a moment before falling still again.

"If I asked you a question, would you tell me the truth?"

Anona found this quite odd. Not only did they hardly seek each other out, only letting coincidence and fate have it's way with their meetings, but it had been quite some time since they spoke so plainly. 

"I would try."

And for a moment, she was far too hopeful the question he might ask would span far beyond their school, or their lives away from home; perhaps back to their roots, or the nostalgia living deep in her, or the smallest hope that perhaps, every memory of her younger self she adored so deeply wasn't merely with a ghost of a person who would grow to cease to exist.

Only he turned to her suddenly, stopping her from her determined trek along the school grounds, and halted her daydreaming with such a cold force that even the chilling breeze that was slowly picking up could not bring her to such a stop. 

“Potters started himself a club, hasn’t he?” 

Her pleasant appearance faltered. “Is that what this is about?”

“You're in his house, you must know.” He said certainly, before his tone slipped to something more intentionally sweet. “You would tell me, right?”

She let out a huff. And in no way could she properly explain the frustration inside her; only that, Draco became a very different boy when they began school, yet nevertheless, he was consistently the same person with her. It was only now she had ever had reason to doubt that.

And for a brief moment, she was scared he was truly gone. Drowned by the tides, pulled back to sea and washed away; out of her reach.

Then the moment passed, and she wondered if he mistook her for an idiot, and knew that surely couldn’t be true. He knew her better than that.

“You truly believe you can use me of all people for your silly, teachers-pet antics?” She said dryly. And he had only seen it few times before, the moment when the sun set in her eyes and the rippling, freshly dark night came alive. Sometimes it made her a different person.

“I trust you.” He said, almost like it was hard for him to. Which only made it more sincere, and she grew soft at the way his eyes flickered with a genuininity and led her to believe for a brief, passing moment, he was truly chasing curiosity. But he wasn’t, he was chasing ambition instead. 

“Here I was thinking you valued me too.” She said sharply, the wind outside whipping her hair behind her shoulder. “I don’t tattle on my friends like a child; and I’m not simply here for your beck and call, to be your Gryffindor spy, and especially not to help that god awful teacher you seem to adore-“

“She’s from the ministry, Mills.” He said blandly, and his bored and annoyed expression only inspired more of an anger in her. 

“She’s from hell, Malfoy.”

He did not seem to appreciate the nickname. The two growing up so nearby, in close quarters and partially dependent, and despite the liking he had taken to her last name, she had only ever called him Draco.

And whether it was her snapping tone or the slight disappointment in her eyes, his caution or reverence; she did not know. Only it left them quiet and empty, only standing and listening to the singing of the wind.

“Good luck with your Inquisitorial Squad. I’m going to dinner.”

She broke apart from him, starting up the hill instead, towards the castle that was lit up from the inside and pulling in more and more students as the sun settled on the horizon.

As he watched her retreating figure, working through a mixture of annoyance and regret, he was reminded of a scene similar once.

And his mind painted the cold white walls of his family manor, and the feeling in his fingers when he trailed them along the hard marble. He remembered refusing to let them hold him captive, no matter what underhanded comments his father made or the disapproving looks his mother thought went unnoticed. 

Once he got past the gazebo, his parents eyes couldn't follow his retreating figure anymore, so he never minded the small wait before he got the chance to take off in a determined sprint, through the woods, a small leap across the creek, over the hill and to the gate of the old garden. 

Draco didn't mind waiting outside that gate, though he could get slightly impatient, depending on the day. But sometimes he sat for a while and wondered about the Mills' garden; filled with the most peculiar plants, varying in all strains and breeds, no pattern to their placement or design. The Mills' only child was a lot like that too. 

That certain day, however, she was already in the garden. Crouched down, hair tied back at the nape of her neck, catching ladybugs in a jar that she would set free anyway. 

When she looked up at him, she looked back down very quickly, almost like she thought she could ignore him, or he'd go away. He came around, on the other side of the gate, to stand in front of her, the wooden slates being the only thing that separated them. 

He watched her quietly, churning words in his head to find the right ones. 

And much like always, she knew when something needed to be said; and when to say it. Because she set her jar down, dusted off her shins, and stood, watching him, before speaking carefully.

"If you feel the same way they do, you don't have to come here anymore. I'll stick to my side of the woods, and everything on the other side of the creek is yours."

"I don't."

She looked down, kicking at the ground, her fingers fidgeting behind her back. "You seem to agree with them when they're around."

"That's different."

They were near their peak, almost of age to start their schooling and be sorted into their like houses. "Not really." She said, growing uncomfortable. She looked at him boldly, with full confidence in her statement, and said, "I'll always be a blood traitor, Draco. And I'm going to be a Gryffindor-"

"You don't know that."

"And if I am?"

He stood silently, As much as he wanted to believe there was even the slightest chance, he knew it. He had seen it for years; the girl who jumped creeks without fear and climbed trees far too high; she was Gryffindor, and she was proud of it. He knew sulking wouldn't help his case.

"Then you're Gryffindor..."

She had this icy ability when she was upset about something; with much little effort at all, she could nearly appear like she just didn't care. Sometimes it made him nervous.

Because beneath the compassionate and virtuous parts of herself, there was a void of space. Whether it be from the constant act of underestimating her that people so effortlessly played into, or a part of her she was born with; she was made like a light switch.

The observation of this tendency of hers made him half convinced she could easily be sorted into Slytherin, but hoping for such made him feel guilty. Whenever he thought such things, a part of him could've sworn she knew. 

Perhaps that was the beginning of it all, that they should've been wary of. It wasn't until after that, things changed them, and secluded them only to certain seasons when no one was around.

Regretfully, that left him only in the present; watching her as she found her way up the hill, a guilty feeling in his throat, and the knowledge that at best, they bridged two separate worlds.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter, but there is much more to come.

Dobby the elf had found this place for the meetings, the Room of Requirement that would keep them out of sight in the late hours of their meetings. To avoid coming in groups, people walked through the doors in five minute intervals until it was ten minutes past eight.

There was an energy in the room Anona came to admire. It was an anxious excitement, and Harry cleared his throat awkwardly when everyone had arrived to explain his plan.

The feeling of rebelling itself was enough adrenaline to keep persevering through her first few failed attempts of Expelliarmus, but the slight sense of rage she got when she practiced must have been what made her end result, after a few practice rounds, exceptional. Due to the rules of underage magic outside of Hogwarts, she never had the chance to indulge in her curiosity. But it wasn't just that that made the feeling of practicing advanced magic in a secret room in Hogwarts itself feel so gratifying; it was the idea of taking her freedom in her own hands; grabbing it by the reigns, deciding for herself if she was going to fight.

And perhaps her parents would have a fit if they knew; that she was a part of a secret organization that had Dolores Umbridge and the Ministry on their toes. But behind the trans-formative four walls of the room that kept them all safe in their scheming, none of it mattered.

The old wooden steps of her family home once held her rage; as she sat and listened to the discussions of her parents that they deemed far too mature for her. Now she had no reason to hide; to not fight; to ignore the truth just like her parents. She was learning magic; learning defense.

She stood by Neville and Ginny. In a matter of minutes, there were whizzes of light around the room, and the flicking of wands, and a general eagerness to perfect their newly learned spell. 

Harry walked around the room, watching people make their best attempt, stopping when necessary to correct any mistakes. 

Anona spun her wand around, stating the words of the spell clearly before letting to magic shoot in a stream towards Neville, which left him wand less and surprised.

"Wow, that was really good Anona." Harry speculated, and she broke out in a victorious smile. "If you steady your wrist movements more, the spell will come out fuller and stronger."

Anona worked hard that night to try to get her spell up to par, watching Ginny from across the room as she quickly got the hang of it. Ginny was severely underestimated by most, probably because she was the youngest Weasley. However, Anona knew she had a knack for picking up spells and jinxes like a natural. She had originally assumed she learned that from her brothers, but in reality, it was credited solely to her brilliant mind.

It wasn't until the end of the lesson that Neville took her by surprise, flashing the spell with a clean swoop of his hand and causing Anona's wand to fly across the room. The two stared at each other in surprise, like they weren't sure if they were dreaming, or if Neville had actually preformed a very good Expelliarmus charm.

Anona broke out into a large grin. "By god, Neville, that was brilliant!"

Like he was still stunned, he managed a smile with wide eyes as his face heated quickly.

And all of them had their moment; of excitement and success. Harry instructed them carefully, and by the end of their lesson, everyone was one step closer to taking their fate in their own hands, setting their minds on their bravery, and refusing once more the resistance of the wizarding world.

Her and Ginny, rather than slipping back to their common room, wandered down to the kitchens instead. This time they were the only ones; the chairs not occupied by Ginny's brothers or their friends, and the kitchen elves quickly brought them pumpkin juice and cinnamon cookies. They feigned exhaustion as if their lesson had wore them out, but both of them knew that all it truly did was get their minds racing.

"Why is it I've only been to your house twice?" Ginny asked her in between sips, probably thinking about the upcoming holidays, when they would all return home.

"Your family is far more entertaining than mine, that's why." Anona split a cookie in half, handing the other side to her.

"Far more crazy, that's for sure." Ginny accepted it. "I liked it quite a lot the last time I was there though, with the reading room, and the garden."

"You're welcome anytime, you know." Anona told her, and she meant it. The only hesitation in her was one she was trying to shake, the one she had always had. The need to protect the secrets she possessed; the house over the the hill. Any intrusion on her hidden paradise felt like wasted time. Perhaps that was why she always found herself at the Weasley's, if they visited each other over their time away from school. Her home was more than brick and building. It was more than a humble structure to run back to; at that point, it felt like the vessel of all things she'd never tell another soul, not even Ginny. Her other life; her parallel self. "But I must say, every time I'm over at yours, your mother makes my favorite tea and I help her clean the kitchen, and it's like a home away from home." She laughed. Ginny smiled in return, although there was something missing. Anona thought for a moment before continuing. "Unless your looking for a place away from all the talk. You know, somewhere that doesn't seem already occupied by, well, reality. My parents never talk about the war, if that's what you like, never to my face at least. Though I can't imagine you could sit still if you weren't up to date on the latest news, not with your family and all..."

Ginny shook her head. "No, I couldn't. But still, it seems nice sometimes. I wish I could be a little more like you, I guess."

Anona stifled a grimace. "I don't think you should." Ginny laughed in response.

"Maybe not..." She let out a sigh. "Oh, still. Perhaps we could do the things we used to do before all this started, I mean really started, like steal your fathers firewhiskey and wonder what it'd be like to be on the Holyhead Harpies." Ginny suggested. She was right. And Anona knew it, that things were getting messy and a little too grown up and they were all silently wishing they could go back in time to when all they were concerned about was who was winning the next Quidditch match and whether there would be fudge brownies after dinner.

"We both know you're the only one who could ever be on the Holyhead Harpies."

Ginny giggled, taking a bite of her cinnamon cookie a little more enthusiastically than before. Anona swore to herself she'd try to remember, for both of their sake, to hold on to the moments they were both aching for with more intention, always unsure when the last chance would be.


	5. Chapter 5

Anona hovered over her cauldron, watching it's contents spin among themselves as fading from a nice lilac color to a dark blue. and she was partially grateful, for the individual assignment, because as entertaining as it was to be paired with Neville, she had much more of a want for quiet and solace in the moment. She wasn't worried with double checking every one of Neville's moves, or with the pale haired boy behind her, and she partially lost focus on the rest of the world as she sunk into the steps of her ingredients, and the desire to meet the standards of the pointed faced teacher who seemed to observe her work like he was looking for a critique, but came up short. 

She found herself at the ingredients cabinet at the back of the classroom, needing more moonstone powder to finish her assignment with a satisfactory result. She passed by bottles and containers of strange substances, searching for the ingredient that had probably been all used up by the rest of her classmates.

Draco's pale hands set it down next to her, returning it to it's place. His hands rummaged around the ingredients cabinet, but Anona wasn't sure what he was looking for. She got the impression he wasn't sure either. 

She poured the powder into a small dish, only taking what she needed and leaving the rest, shifting her weight around her legs nervously as she did it. She could feel him about to speak.

"You would never be so foolish to join a forbidden club, Mills." He said lowly. She was always amazed with them; how they managed to speak so quietly, so quickly, so casually to each other in the most obvious situations, yet consistently remain unnoticed. Some part of their interactions seemed so natural, she assumed they fit perfectly into the world.

"You've never known me to be a fool, Draco." She breathed out, pushing the bottles of ingredients back in their places, wanting nothing more than to return to her quiet solitude of her potion. And despite the desire to be alone, after the rigorous days of hiding her suspicious activities with the rest of her housemates, she felt a sense of comfort in his presence, yet not his words. She was not surprised he would continue to pursue this topic. "But you've also never known me past my past self."

And was it not true, that at some point, whether in their school years or the first summer they fell still, he had stopped learning her? Was it not true that while the foundations of her were rooted in the same memories as him, his growing distance had left him with a large gap of things about her unknown?

He did not believe so; with the familiarity of her and the extreme detail in which he used to be able to predict her, he could not phantom anything had changed. She was what she once was, or so he thought.

And he was not completely wrong; but she was growing. And as she did, her courage grew strong, and her mind more determined; her features grew sharper, and her sense became wiser. Could he really comprehend her, past and present?

Something about what she said must have sat poorly with him, because he was quick to look at her with an expression he had not worn from her doing before.

"I won't make exceptions for you, Anona." He said boldly, and for the first time, maybe ever, she seemed to believe that maybe her status, or house, mattered. 

When they were young, he seemed to struggle with the idea of her being not only a Gryffindor, but a blood traitor. At some point he must've shoved it so deep he didn't even dwell on it; like the status she was and the strange friendship between them existed separately. But it did not, in fact, they were very intertwined. Draco could never admit that without his entire foundation of the person he was, crumbling. 

She let out a callous laugh, slowly growing more and more agitated. And a part of her was surprised; and a part of her, not at all. Because he did seem to make exceptions for her, consistently. But she supposed there always grew a time, where people had to make the choice. She knew Draco, and as fond as she was of that person, she knew he wouldn't fail to chose what made him the most successful every time. It didn't matter who it was; not even her.

"I'm not scared of you, Draco."

"Don't be scared, be sensible." He snapped. If she had not been so bothered by his tone, she would've thought he cared. Perhaps he did, after all. She hardly noticed. 

The Slytherins at the back row of tables looked back at them, and they both realized they had lost their unnoticeable demeanor. "Your potion’s about to boil over." She said curtly. She did not care to converse with him about it. 

Because it did not matter who he was when he was a child, or the image of him that lived in Anona's mind, it all equaled to nothing now. He was still a Slytherin, the leader of the Inquisitorial Squad, and prejudiced. And she was living in a time where the rebellion entranced her.

By the end of class they hadn't spared each other a glance.

Anona hide herself between the shelves of the library. It was a good place to hide her thoughts and distract her mind, trying her best to pluck them from her head and slid them between the pages of a book. If someone followed in her trail, they'd flutter through each story to find pieces of her, pressed between parchment and unable to be aged by father time. This time, however, she was afraid to pull anything from her brain. Every detail she gave up was one she might never get back.

In fact, every detail of the blonde haired boy was one that could slip away at a moment's shift. They were already arriving upon their final destination; if she really tried to expel him from her mind, she'd lose what felt like her last months to enjoy any piece of him that remained. Years from now, when there was no war, and they were twenty years older, she'd think back and ache for the memory of his presence. Even if it was cold, and rigid, and speaking to her harshly from the other side of the cupboard.

That was, in all assumptions, that she lost him to the war. Things were complicated, and the lines blurred, but she knew the truth deep down; despite any parallels in their minds, they were ultimately tethered to two opposing sides. She had already pledged her allegiance to one; she was already resisting. She had long since stopped doubting the content of Draco's character, but she still knew the obligations he had to his family. That would never change. 

Perhaps, deep down, that is what she resisted against. Her parents would already disapprove enough, wishing for nothing more than her safety and her neutrality, of her small acts of defiance within the schools stone walls. If they truly knew the depth of her involvement, the things she felt like were at stake, they might wonder if they were staring at their daughter, or a stranger. 

"She looks a little down, doesn't she?" A voice interrupted Anona's internal conflict, bringing her back to the page she had spent twenty minutes staring at blankly.

"She sure does, Freddie."

She turned suddenly to see the two Weasley twins looking quite expectantly at her, holding a number of books she hadn't seen before.

"Shouldn't you two be down at lunch?" She asked, attempting to pull herself back to reality. In all fairness, she should've been too, but she trusted they would not point this out. 

"Should be," Fred said, shrugging.

"Only we're on the brink of a breakthrough with perfecting our Nosebleed Nougats, and we just can't spare the time for fine dining." George added, gesturing to the books. It made her smile softly, holding back a small laugh. They were insistent lately on their new inventions, which she had to admit, were pretty impressive. Every once in awhile she'd agree to test one out for them, on a bold whim and a bit of a sweet tooth, no matter how terrible the outcome seemed to be. She had only had to go to the hospital wing once, though. 

"But the Nougats will have to wait, won't they Georgie?" Fred looked at him, and George nodded before looking back at Anona.

"Worried about the meetings, are you?"

"Or OWL's?"

"Or let me guess," Fred started, like he had finally figured it out. "You had been hoping to score a spot on the Quidditch team but you still haven't come to terms with the fact you are exceedingly untalented at it?"

"Hey!" Anona laughed, lightly hitting his arm with her book in hand. "I've come to terms with it, alright."

"Thank god, we already have enough bets in the hat about Ron, we wouldn't want you to make our odds worse."

She had forgotten about the upcoming Quidditch game. In fact, there may have been many things she had forgotten lately, her mind too taken by the idea of what her parents would think of her, or a certain blonde boy, to even enjoy. Like Quidditch games, or Hogsmeade, or the fast approaching holidays.

"I nearly forgot about that." She breathed out, thinking out loud more than anything else. 

"Best to get in the spirit soon, then"

"It's going to be the biggest game of the year!" Fred slung and arm around her, "Don't worry Little Nonie, whatever it is you're thinking about is nothing that can't be cured by a delicious piece of nougat." He wiggled his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes in response, despite the smiling spreading across her face. At the least, their happiness was contagious. "If I try one of those bloody things for you both, what do I get out of it?"

"Something to occupy your mind, and if we're feeling particularly generous, maybe a butter beer."

"Deal."


	6. Chapter 6

While all Quidditch games were taken seriously at the school of magic, nothing compared to the energy of a game between the two rivalry houses. The excitement started the night before, really, but Anona especially felt it the moment she woke up. All the other Gryffindor girls were already pulling back their sheets when she opened her eyes.

In fact, she enjoyed the fact that practically everyone was in a exceedingly good mood, besides Ron, who was a twisted shade of green. The homemade badges a vast majority of the Slytherins wore on their shirts didn't help much.

However, still for the first time in what felt like forever, the whole great hall was buzzing about something that had nothing to do with dark magic, or terrible ministry professors, or whether Dumbledore was losing his marbles. For fleeting moments of time, Anona felt like she was a first-year student again. Luna Lovegood had on a giant papermache lion's head, and Neville talked excitedly to the both of them about  
his gut feeling that things just had to go well today, he just knew it. The Weasley twins were not far from her, trying to make it up to Ginny, who was glaring at them with red cheeks and a chunk of hair splattered with grits.

Breakfast concluded and it was not long before they all congregated once more in the stands of the Quidditch field. The tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin was thick and dense in the air, and Anona wrapped her crimson red knitted scarf around her to block out the cold breeze and any anxieties she had about the game. It was just another friendly game of Quidditch, anyways.

As the game progressed, however, the small worry for the games outcome only grew. Ginny sat on the other side of her, her fiery hair pulled back into a tight pony tail, watching the game intently. Anona pretended not to stare when her cheeks turned a deep shade of red, hearing the Slytherin stand sing a song Anona could only guess was written by a certain Slytherin Seeker mocking Ron quite harshly as he tried to keep his focus up in the sky. Ginny was hard to distract when she got angry, but she tried her best anyways, inserting plenty of unnecessary commentary that rang over any song about Weasley's that boomed through the crowd.

Ginny had a knack for brooms, and the skill and balance they required. She had long since tried to teach Anona how to fly like her, but the message never sunk in. Something about her lacked the focus to keep herself steady, always being distracted by the tree tops. Despite her own ignorance to the topic of playing Quidditch, she understood the game quite well. She had told Ginny more times than one that she'd be an excellent addition to a team one day, if a spot opened. She tried to remind Ginny of that as the Slytherins continued. It made a small, fleeting smile form on her lips before it disappeared again, lost in the discomfort of watching her brother start to slowly lose all capabilities to play Quidditch.

Despite Ron's persistent ability to step up in a time of need, he grew weaker and weaker as the game continued, Quaffles passing him by, the green team roaring each time they did. Anona nearly sighed in relief when the snitch was released, finally seeing a end near in sight.

Everyone watched closely, but the only problem was, the snitch was so fast, and released without warning, that following it closely was a difficult thing to accomplish.

Harry and Draco whizzed after the small golden sphere that sprouted wings and flew at the speed of light. Much like everyone else in the stands, Anona watched the sky with the upmost precision and didn't dare get distracted by anything happening on the ground, despite the thoughts in her head or any songs being sung.

She remembered helping him practice, in the clearing of the meeting point of their two houses. Draco was always determined to play Quidditch, and play it well. Though she wan't sure if that was his dream, or his fathers. Whatever it was, it kept his mind occupied during the summers, when the air was warm and the skies were clear. 

She remembered the gold paint she'd spread over the surface of walnuts, in small precision that never protected her fingers from getting stained with the golden shimmer. She’d throw them in the air for him to catch, counting on them like shooting stars. It was a much more simple time.

Three stands, along with her, burst out suddenly when Harry's hands wrapped around a real snitch, ending the game in another Gryffindor victory. She felt her breath heave in relief that what felt like slow torture was over, and they had still won, and she could tell from the way her shoulders slumped that Ginny felt the same way. 

The crowd of Gryffindors were cheering, hugging, celebrating. The sounds of people were so overwhelming Anona could hardly hear any of the things people were saying, much less focus on the pitch, but that's where all her friend's eyes narrowed as the players planted their feet on the ground. She watched Harry land, a wide grin on his face, and Draco stalking up to him, wearing a harsh scowl. He had never taken losing very well, that was something everyone knew. She could see the Gryffindor team members pushing back, until Harry and Fred took a leap in his direction, ready to fight him.

Professors stepped in the middle, and by now, Ginny was already weaving her way towards the pitch. Despite any desire in her to keep out of the very hot water between Harry and Draco, she wasn't sure if there would be anyone to hold Ginny back. Reluctantly, she followed. Besides, she was never one for tension, but it was a conflict of interest. Maybe she wanted to see how it ended.

Harry was red in the face and the Weasley twins could hardly restrain themselves. It did not take long for teacher involvement; something that made them all uneasy. Professor Umbridge had grown callous with the lion house. She watched the altercation, holding on to the back of Ginny's robes without thinking. She subconsciously felt the need to when Draco made it clear the Weasley's were once again his target, making even her own face hot in anger. She stayed that way until Draco stalked away, leaving the rest of the Gryffindor team in the hands of Umbridge, which was a certainty for unfair punishment; all for the sake of Draco's pride. That was one characteristic of his she never admired.

She had no intention to speak to him, only wondering the fate that would stand for her friends, who seemed to be getting blamed for the happening on the pitch, even as everyone rushed to the Great Hall in a cause of celebration and ignorance to the vicious words exchanged.

Except the pale haired boy seemed to have other ideas as he passed; forgetting the things he knew about inspiring her temperament.

"What are you gawking at, Mills?" He said angrily, a flush in his pale cheeks. 

Her eyes flickered to him, after studying carefully the expressions of her friends, knowing he had crossed a line that offended everyone. "Nothing familiar." She snapped.

And perhaps if the timing had been different, it would have upset him in a silent kind of way. But Draco's fury was often inspired by any reason it could grasp, like fueling a fire. 

“I could say the same thing.”

“What have I ever done to you?” She called, turning as he walked away. He looked back at her, his demeanor faltering for a moment, his expression settling on one that was simply tired.

“Ms. Mills!” Professor Umbridge marched up to her, her pink coat pulled tightly around her in a ridiculous sort of way. “Following suit of your friends and attempting to attack Mr. Malfoy, I see?” She said with a strained look, her words sharp. 

“I was j-“

“No more.” Umbridge said. “See me tonight for detention, Ms. Mills. Come, come along now.” She dragged her by her sleeve, leaving her no time to contemplate the left expression on Draco’s face. 

Instead, she was pulled away until Draco was out of sight, harshly reprimanded to hurry off to dinner, and left to sink into her seat, remembering all the things she had hear about Umbridge’s after office hours.

-

Things were not good. Before the words even left Umbridge's mouth, it seemed the whole school had heard about the life long ban that had been placed on the Weasley twins, and Harry potter, prohibiting them from ever playing Quidditch on school grounds again. Any ounce of celebration the Gryffindor house could muster quickly died when that news surfaced, leaving everyone sulking away in their dorms, having not even stayed around in the great hall long enough for dessert. Their victory had quickly resulted in an reserved night for mourning. 

Just when she had thought her night couldn't get any worse; after handling the insistent rage and ranting of what felt like every Weasley, Anona remembered the office visit she owed that awful Ministry woman. 

When she shuffled into Umbridge's office that night, she was almost at peace with the small price of a punishment. She was just wanting to get it over with, in fact.

She sank into the seat nearest to Umbridge's desk as she smiled at her, watching her get settled in before offering her a piece of parchment. Anona sighed in relief; lines were nothing. In fact, she could quite easily find a limbo in her writing of lines, snapping back to reality only to realize she had finished pages.

Umbridge sat down a quill, which Anona picked up and waited. There was something sickening about the smile her professor wore, watching her expectantly. Nobody enjoyed watching another human being writing the same sentence aimlessly for hours.

"You haven't given me any ink." Anona said softly, like she was cautious a tone too harsh would inspire an even more twisted grin.

"No, no, dear, you won't be needing any." She shuffled back to her desk, sitting down with a hmph and obnoxiously slurping her tea. Anona looked back at her parchment, wondering how she was supposed to write with no ink. "I must not disrespect."

The cats on porcelain plates watched her, shelved among the walls around her, pawing balls of yarn. Something was incredibly unsettling, or perhaps, she concluded, it was just the feeling of exhaustion and dissatisfaction with a rather poor day.

From the first stroke of her quill, a feeling set in her stomach, one that was definitely not just from any kind of tired. A twist of pain on the back of her hand, and plunging in her gut. She nearly gawked at the woman at her desk, wondering how she was allowed around children at all, until she settled on keeping her eyes cast down. She was hesitant to satisfy her with surprise.

She glanced at the back of her hand, seeing the stroke of the letter 'I' carefully cut into her flesh. Her parchment was now stained with blood instead of ink. She shivered. Suddenly, doing this for even a minute more seemed like hours.

And there was no way out of it, only to remain intact with a simple bravery. She couldn't reach the limbo; she couldn't remove herself from her body. Every time she reached the end of a line, she was reminded she must start again.

I must not disrespect. 

She scribbled through the pain. Her eyes stung from the aching, but she didn't want to cry. She was furious.

Sometimes things seemed simple to her. Bad and good; black and white; Voldemort's supporters and those who fought against him. Nothing was very simple at all. No, because if it were, her parents would throw their support completely to the right side, and Draco wouldn't be somewhere caught in the middle between good and bad, and Dolores Umbridge would look a lot more like the spawn of the devil then she did then, dressed in her stupid pink outfit. And if things were simple, her friends would all be guaranteed their safety instead of left in a state of wondering, and she'd never have to question if what she was doing behind the backs of everyone was right or wrong, and Harry and the twins would still be allowed to play Quidditch because they were merely victims.

Her mind lingered at her parents, in between painful strokes of her quill. She wondered what they would think if they saw her now; she wondered what needed to happen to spark a riot in them.

She was sure hours had passed. Her hand screamed in pain; time was ticking by so slowly, and she could feel the warmth of a single, thick drop of blood finding the curve of her wrist.

The door creaked open, though she didn't bother to look up. Her eyes stung, they clouded and blurred her vision, and she kept her head titled the only way she could see her paper and avoid letting any tears fall at the same time. She wasn't going to break down; they were tears of anger. Is this what she got in return for her efforts?

"Professor," The voice started. It hesitated as the door shut behind the body it belonged to. Now more than ever, Anona wished the floor beneath her would swallow her whole.

"Mr. Malfoy, what must you need?" She sounded delighted, turning in her chair as he approached. Anona could feel the strength of his gaze. He set down on Professor Umbridge's desk what looked to be a revised essay, but Anona could hardly tell. "Thank you, dear."

She must've noticed Draco's gaze constantly shifting to the Gryffindor girl at a single desk. "Don't mind Ms. Mills, dear, she's just serving punishment for the small quarrel that took place before." Suddenly, Anona could feel both their eyes on her. "Yes, Ms. Mills, come here, let's see if the message has quite, sunk in."

Hesitantly, she rose up from her desk, keeping her injured hand at her side. She didn't want Draco to see; she didn't want anyone to. If it were up to her, she'd hide forever.

Umbridge grabbed hold of her wrist once she was close, poking and prodding the fresh, throbbing wound in the light. "What do you think, Mr. Malfoy?" Umbridge said, almost in a taunting way. The only problem was, Draco looked mildly horrified, and Anona was shrinking in her skin, and Umbridge was the only being in the room enjoying herself, save the kittens that were still bounding in their porcelain prisons. "Yes, I think that should do. You should do well to respect your peers next time, Ms. Mills, especially those being prefects."

Anona hardly heard any of it, packing up the minute she had been dismissed by her teacher. She felt exposed in a way she didn't realize she could feel, and every fiber of her wanted to escape before another word could be spoken.

And before she could consider the painfully empathetic expression that Draco was left wearing, or the way his words hit the back of his teeth in search of the right ones, she had hurried out of the door and to the Gryffindor common room, where no one could watch her suffer, or cause her pain, or humiliate her any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get inspired by a lot of things, but there's a different inspiration that comes from comments and feedback. Just the idea that someone gets a fraction of enjoyment that I do out of just writing this, I couldn't ask for more. So tell me, where do you guys think this relationship is going? Mid year at Hogwarts, it's the typical tension.... hmm.


	7. Chapter 7

By the early morning sunrise, Anona had woken with a momentary, fleeting forgetfulness that anything was different. In fact, she had made it all the way to the Great Hall for breakfast, listening to the echoing click of her shoes, and sliding into seat at the Gryffindor table, serving herself some breakfast, and then, finally then, when the familiar brown owl swooped down to release her a softly pressed envelope, did she remember. 

_Dearest Anona,_

_We are more than happy to hear that school is going well. We believe OWL year holds much promise for you, and your sharp mind._

_We would, however, like to raise into question the extracirriculars of Hogwarts. There have been rumors, words, and while things can be twisted easily while passed by mouth, we know their is a disrupt due to the new infiltration of the ministry. We trust you very much, Anona, but please let us remind you to be safe. You've had a lion's heart since day one, but this is not a fight you need to partake in. These days, it is best to keep your head down._

_We are looking forward to seeing you home for the holidays soon, and miss you very much. Keep up the hard work._

_Much love,_

_Mum and Dad._

She was grateful for a lack of people in the hall, due to the early hour that she had rose that morning. She mindlessly stared at their words for a long time.

And there was only to an extent which they knew, but still, it made her stomach churn in a mix of irritation and disappointment. And despite any occasion, nothing quite swayed her parents mind.

They knew her too well, she thought. Many miles away and they can still predict her moves. She supposed they predicted them now, too. This was the part where she humbly listened to them; she kept her head down; she reeled back any feeling on the matter she had, for the sake of not disappointing them. 

And she was very much afraid to. No bone in her body supposed she could handle it, no piece of her mind. It was hard to believe she ever could, really. In her house, there had always been love. Only ever love. Her parents had done too good of a job, she supposed. They had cared for her, and let her walk on her own, and also helped her when she needed it; they had stopped their whole world if she merely fell ill, they never failed to praise her achievements or encourage her through her failures. Now she supposed if she were to ever disappoint them, she simply wouldn't be enough. They deserved a daughter that was. 

And for her parents lack of will to fight; that was perhaps the most irritating. And she couldn't help it, either, only merely wonder how she could've been born from two people so different from her, in that way. Perhaps they weren't fearful, just pacifistic. Anona wondered if they would supposed this problem could be loved away too. 

By few numbers, more people entered the Great Hall. It was still early, however, Anona slipped the letter away anyways. She supposed it didn't matter; it wouldn't bother anyone but her. 

She instead turned back to finish her coffee, as the hall slowly filled, and left for the library to kill the time in between then, and when class started.

She thumbed though the pages of random books, busying herself to pass the time, waiting for something to catch her eye or be forced to move on to Potions instead. 

"Hey.." She heard a voice say, one she had heard quite a number of times. She turned to see the boy with the lightning scar, looking lost in a sea of books, and a little out of place without his other two friends at his side. Sometimes she forgot that Harry Potter was himself even without his accomplices. "You didn't happen to finish that potions essay, did you?"

Of course she had. She may have not been as studious at Hermione Granger, who seemed to complete the homework before it was even assigned, but she had grown attached to the nights in the Gryffindor common room, near a warm fire and endless sheets of blank parchment.

"I can't seem to find the third element of..."

Anona slid a book from off the top shelf, only knowing exactly where it was because she had just put it back the other day, before handing it to him. It landed softly in his hands, leaving him staring at it blankly before looking back up to give her a small nod. "Yeah, thanks."

He seemed to go to walk away before hesitating, turning back to her slowly. "I actually wanted to ask, er, if you were okay. I heard Umbridge gave you detention, something about the Quidditch game..."

She subconsciously held that same hand in her other, now that he had mentioned it, trailing her finger over the rigid edges of the wound. 

"Yeah..." She glanced down at her hands before looking at him again. Harry and her had never formally been friends. In fact, she was in his year, and his house, and friends with his best friends family, but they had never seemed to really talk about anything past school assignments, or something Fred and George were up to. Something about that fact of the matter, and that he was still asking how she was, despite their distance, seemed incredibly genuine of him. She supposed that's just who he was. "A small price to pay, I suppose."

Harry's hand looked much worse than hers. 

"I hope the meetings," She considered the empty library before she spoke. "continue to go well. I think everyone really enjoys them."

He gave her a small smile at that, like the piece of reassurance was enough to cement his confidence. 

She thought back to the letter from her parents. She thought about their hesitance for her to stand amongst the crowd; to fight. She felt guilty.

"My parents... they don't believe I should fight. They want me to keep my head down. They think it isn't my battle."

"And you disagree?" He encouraged her to continue, and she nodded shyly, like she felt, from somewhere, her parents were watching her as she answered. 

"I want to fight, I really do. It's hard; to do what's right while trying to do what you've been taught to."

He shifted on his feet, like he was thinking. He waited a moment before he began to speak. "You know, er, there was I time I didn't think this was, well, my battle, either. Guess it could've been anybody, really... But I suppose, if we don't do it, no one else will. People are hiding; the Ministry's in denial; we haven't much of a choice, do we?"

She took in his words, mulling them over in her head on loop, hoping they'd sink in. He was right, as much as it would've been easier for him to be wrong. She was not naive enough to believe differently.

_If we don't do it, no one else will. We haven't much of a choice, do we?_

"No, I suppose we don't."


	8. Chapter 8

“Reducto!” 

The stream of blue light shot across the room, using the object set on the other side to be reduced to a fine dust.

“Bloody hell, Ginny.” Ron said in surprise, suddenly looking wary of her presence. Anona let out an excited laugh as she clapped her hands, disregarding the dull ache in her left one that wouldn’t pass.

“Let me try!” She jumped in, aiming her wand. With the flick of her wrist and an incantation, there was an explosion on the other side of the room. 

“Kind of fun, isn’t it?” Ginny asked with a smile, and Anona nodded back. It was thrilling, actually, because never before had she felt so powerful and so prepared.

The experience itself, the rebellion, made her heart pound with excitement. And though her parents never mentioned it, and everyone else avoided it, she knew deep down the war upon them. With every meeting, every waking moment, she felt prepared. She felt dignified.

“Going home for the holidays?” Ginny asked as the lesson wrapped up. 

“I am, actually. It’s a lovely holiday for a home cooked meal. I’m sure you are too, right?”

“My mother would have a fit if I tried to stay here over break for no good reason. Besides, Fred and George keep me entertained.” Ginny laughed as the two waited to slip out into the corridor in a pair, the group always staggering their exits to ensure they wouldn't get caught.

“That’s true. I suppose I’ll read a good book or something. Maybe finally get good on my broom.” Anona thought out loud, wondering what her holiday would look like. 

“You and that stupid broom, I swear, you’re sworn enemies.” Ginny laughed. Easy for Ginny to say, Anona thought, now that Ginny was on Quidditch team. "A teacher would do you well."

Anona thought about Draco. She thought about the way he played Quidditch, and the amount of time he spent in practice, and the way he tried to prove to himself he was good enough without his fathers money.

And then she started thinking about holiday break, and being back in the house just over the hill from his, and away from the prying eyes of Hogwarts students. She thought about the canopies of the tree that they used to play under, and her favorite spot to read in her garden, and the small part of his house she could see if she leaned over her top balcony.

Only this time, they had left off on a bad note, and Anona was sure that nothing would come from being home again, close in proximity. She kept her thoughts on her home, instead, seeing her parents and sitting my the fire of her reading room, and the promise she made to Ginny that they'd write to each other.

When the holidays came about, they wrote much more to each other than they usually did, all thanks to an attack on Mr. Weasley in the ministry. A giant snake, by the likes of it, seen through the questionably physic abilities of the boy with the scar. It had left the whole Weasley family a bit distraught before the holidays even officially started. As frightening as it was to see all the Weasleys, plus Hermione and Harry, disappear from the school of magic over night, Ginny was quick to send letters when the news that her father was going to be okay was solidified. After that, with each day into the holiday break, she sent Anona a detailed update on how the family was doing.

She sat at the stretch of her oak dining room table, hunched over in concentration as she scribbled a message across a piece of parchment, her little brown owl hooting and pecking at it's cage floor in the corner of the room. Sometimes she cursed the separation between her and Ginny's life; it would make things much easier if she was just there. There were plenty of questions she wanted to ask, but for the sake of Ginny, she reigned back her curiosity as to not come on too eager to know.

She felt the warm hand of her mother on her back, followed by the clink of a mug of hot chocolate being set by her parchment, and her mother sinking into the chair beside her. Her mother had always had the ability to love silently, without as much of a plea, before you could ever even think of what you truly needed.

"You're a good friend, you know that." She said, brushing back the hair from Anona's face. "The Weasley's must be so frightened. Things have been truly different this year at school, haven't they dear?"

"Yes, they have." She nodded, giving her mother a soft smile. She could make a list of all the things fifth year had brought, things that will never be the same... "Though I believe it becomes more so that way with every year."

"What do you mean?" Her mother asked, looking at her in question. Anona sipped her hot cocoa innocently, shaking her head.

"Oh, you know mum, just growing up."

False. Every student at Hogwarts, older and young, knew the constrains of a dark threat tightened around them with each year. Everybody did, really, but Hogwarts grew to be questionably safe as time passed. Unfortunately, that was part of the package when attending school with the one person the dark lord wanted dead. But she made sure that as far as her mother was concerned, the only thing she was concerned with, was being a student. Living the proper Hogwarts experience.

"Your father and I worry sometimes, you know." Her mother said, pushing her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. 

"I know..." Anona nodded, smiling sweetly at her mother. It lingered for a moment before leaving, and she merely looked in curiosity as she felt a random pulse of boldness. "Mum, have you and dad been keeping up with the news?"

"I really wish I didn't have to sometimes, but your father is so involved in the Ministry he seems to know things before the public does. Why?"

She twisted her quill around in her hand, ignoring the blot of ink that had dropped from it and spread across the edge of her piece of parchment. "Aren't you guys, concerned at all?"

Her mother looked back her, her gaze shifting between her eyes and the place behind her ear where she had just tucked her hair. She opened her mouth to respond, before settling on silent, parted lips instead. Anona didn't know if she was debating between being truthful or not, but she suspected it.

"It is nothing I want you to worry about, my love. Things are, difficult, right now, but the Ministry will take care of it, and it'll be like it never happened." Her mother moved to stand, bending down to place a kiss on her forehead, deeming the conversation over before it ever really started. "I just want you to focus on school, and your friends. And perhaps we can focus later on those orange marmalade cookies we always make, yes?" She gave her a kind smile, the one she gave everyone. It seemed too kind, too genuine. Her mother always seemed to be too good for earth itself. Though in the moment it only gave Anona moderate comfort. She felt slightly belittled by her mother's lack of explanation, but after all, it was how they had always gone about it.

"Yeah," Anona nodded blankly, concealing any look of disappointment. She wished they would just treat her like an adult. This war was not something the Ministry could just take care of, and her parents knew that. "That sounds great, Mum."

She sealed her letter to Ginny and walked over to the bird cage in the corner of the room, a small brown owl cooing at her in response, watching with wide eyes. She scooped out a couple nuts from a small bowl on the book shelf, tossing them to the little owl as a treat before handing it the letter.

"Here you go, pickle. It's another to Ginny, you know what to do."

The marmalade cookies were finished later in the evening at the expense of her and her mothers hard work. They had gotten to routine of baking together down quite well. Her father had said that watching the two of the dancing around each other in an admirable harmony as they did so, never in the others way, was like watching the twirling figures of a music box. It brought her a sense of pleasure, in the comfortable ritual that reminded her she was home. However, once she finished sipping on their own perfected recipe of a night time tea that her father always brewed them in the evenings, she kissed both her parents goodnight and retreated back to the confines of her room.

Her room was like a forgotten sanctuary that was a refreshing reminder every time she opened the old oak door. There was a stack of old books in the corner of the room, over flow from the great big bookcase against the wall. It sat next to a matching stack of journals and notebooks that were held together by thin seams and their stagnant nature. An old white quilt with random patches of yellow that disguised old holes was slung over her bed, her favorite thing to wrap herself in during this season. Old black and white pictures, some moving, were thumb-tacked to her walls, edges curling. There was a general smell to her room, one of burnt candles and spruce. On her bed, her mother had left her a new pair of fuzzy Christmas socks, like she did every year.

She settled on the end of her bed facing the window, watching the last of the sunlight disappear over the top of the hill. Despite the warmth the evening tea had spread through her chest, between the reality of the Weasley attack, being back in the adoring home that never heard her worries, and small tug in her feet to creep down to the creek that split the properties, just in case, she wondered if she would be getting any sleep tonight.


	9. Chapter 9

He found her close to midnight, completely by chance. They never agreed on these things, they just simply knew when, and where. Although when he stumbled upon her, she didn't seem like she was waiting for anyone at all.

Being home for the holidays terrified him. It was filled with stern looks from his father, the pointed face of his mother, and lots of implications of the future. It felt like the kiss of death. Hogwarts was better; there was Quidditch, and Potions class, Hogsmeade, a million things to catch his attention and give him a small sense of relief. Being home left him no escape, not unless he snuck very silently across the cold marble of his house, forbidding the house elf to speak a word of it, and out the back door, down the trail past the gazebo.

She was hunched over, folded over herself in a fashion that was reminiscent of a memory from years ago he had of her in her garden. Her fuzzy Christmas socks she always had this time of year were spilling over the tops of her white sneakers, keeping her warm along with the large crimson sweater slung across her shoulders. She hadn't heard him approach, and he hung back quietly leaning against the trunk of a near tree as he watched her placing the tops of her mothers flowers in the creeks water, the water that would surely be frozen over by morning. 

She placed another down as they slowly floated away, looking rather magical in the light of the moon. She noticed him. "I'm not in the mood to talk."

"This is a late time for you to be wandering the woods to not want to talk."

She turned her head towards him in annoyance, closing her palm a little too tightly around the flowers in her hand. "This isn't school, Draco, you don't need to remind me of my curfew."

She did not want him there, it was undeniable, but Draco never cared for much for the convenience of others, and he had some things on his mind he was wanting to get out. He approached her slowly, as she turned back to her creation in the water, and sat down on the soft patch of grass beside her. He picked at it's dying blades and looked up at the glowing sky, the sun beyond the horizon still illuminating it slightly, but not enough to rid the stars that riddled the tree tops, eager for their time of day to shine brightest.

"I've never liked very much when you're mad at me."

"That's hardly an apology."

"I wasn't apologizing." He corrected, causing her to glare at him again. 

"Mr. Weasley was nearly killed at the Ministry, did you hear?" Her tone was bitter, like she was already ready to fight with him once more, if that is what he was there for. "And I can only imagine how many more people will be attacked in such a way, and how many more times the Ministry will fail-"

"Anona." Draco cut her off, which would normally send her into more of a rage, but she only fell silent. She was looking at a boy she wanted nothing more than to make sure was okay, to talk to about the struggle of not having your parents hear you, the pain of watching the world fall apart; a boy she wanted nothing more than to protect. "I wasn't saying I was right, either."

She stopped talking altogether at that, placing more crumpled flowers in the water and watching them create a picture only for a moment before flowing further down the creek. It was growing even colder, and she was eyeing the coat on Draco's shoulders like she was wondering if he was warm enough. The cap she had pulled over her head was keeping her ears warm, but her nose was turning as red as her sweater. 

"I've never liked you being mad at me, Mills." He said, before letting out a huff that left a fog in the air. "And it doesn't make sense, because by all means I should hate you. I should've never been friends with you to begin with, but I am. And I don't like it when you're mad at me, even when I think I'm right."

Her furrowed brow had softened at his words, and now she only watched him in an unbreakable attention.

"I'm no good. My father is expecting things of me that I can't refuse him. And if you knew the extent of it, you would hate me." He sounded more honest than he ever had, and when he looked back at her, his expression was only consumed by worry. Worry that she would do exactly what he said. "You would hate me like I'm supposed to hate you."

Her gaze shifted back to the water when the strength of his started to make her nervous. "I don't think I could ever hate you, Draco."

The remaining sun had vacated the sky, and all that remained was the starlight, the distant glimmer of her dimly lit home, and the symphony of rippling water.

"That's all I could ask for."

The remaining sun had vacated the sky, and all that remained was the starlight, the distant glimmer of her dimly lit home, and the symphony of rippling water.

"That's all I could ask for."

She heard him reach into the pocket of his coat, and when she looked back, he had moved so much closer she could feel the warmth of his breath on her shoulder. He extended out his arm, holding out a closed palm before turning it over into her hand. When he pulled back, the golden shimmer painted over the half shell of a walnut paused her in her spot. The familiar feeling of summers ago, throwing up golden walnuts as Draco flew around near above her, calling out for him to catch the makeshift snitches before they dropped back to earth. She hardly thought he still thought of those times, but he continued to surprise her, and even more, continued to convince he cared far more than he would admit.

She stared back at him in disbelief, clutching the small token so closely in her hand she could feel it's rough and aged edges poking her palm. He looked down at the fist she was making, turning it over with a frown, allowing his thumb to gently trail over the now healed scars of the worst detention of her life. Her breathing began to shallow at the contact, unsure if it was the walnut shell cutting into her palm, or the pale fingers trailing over the back of that same hand that felt like pins and needles and her fathers warm evening tea. And after inspecting the damage that he still blamed himself for, his grey eyes flickered from her hand, to her cold red nose, to the peaks of her top lip, and then finally to her eyes. 

"Merry Christmas, Anona."

And before she could utter the festive blessing back to him in attempt to show him that she wasn't still mad, and no, she could never hate him, and time could do nothing for them except bring them closer with every waking moment, the cold air was filling the space in front of her, and he had crossed the property line to the house on the other side of the hill.


End file.
